


Into the Woods

by GeorgieGirl8



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Camping, Canoes, Friends to Lovers, Sharing A Tent, Sharing a Bed, oh no we're stuck together whatever shall we do with our lips and genitals, strawberries are the most sensual fruit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgieGirl8/pseuds/GeorgieGirl8
Summary: Lured on a canoe camping expedition with the promise of catching up with her best friend after a hectic first year of college, Betty goes into the woods with Veronica, Veronica's boyfriend Archie, Archie's roommate Jughead, their neighbours Toni and Cheryl, and Betty's friends Kevin and Joaquin. But when Veronica and Archie's passion for one another proves too much for them to hold at bay, Betty and Jughead are thrown together and MANY MANY TROPES ENSUE!A college/camping/summer Bughead AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this because I love the "oh no we have to share a [blank]" trope soooo much and also I really just wanted to write about Betty and Jughead in a canoe together.
> 
> If you haven't already, come find me on tumblr @GeorgieGirl8. I'm still terrible at using tumblr but I love seeing you there!
> 
> Also: RIP my dissertation!

“Hey, turn this one up,” Kevin requested from his cozy position in one corner of the back seat of Veronica’s car, his feet tucked up, his elbow resting on his knee, his head against the window, his eyes on his phone.

“Kevin, it’s already kind of loud,” said Archie, half-turning in the front passenger seat. “Ronnie and I are having a pretty intense discussion up here.”

“About dogs – yeah, I know,” said Kevin, barely hiding his disdain. “That’s why, Archie: I can still hear you. You’re, um—” he grinned tightly, trying to control his impatience, “you’re actually talking over Arianna.”

“It’s fine, Kevin,” said Veronica with a smile, reaching a perfectly manicured finger over to tap the volume control on the car’s touchscreen.

She was in a strangely upbeat mood, Betty thought, considering they were currently hurtling their way out of civilization and into the wilderness for a three-night canoe camping expedition. No pillow-top mattresses, no room service, not even a rustic cabin – just tents on the ground, hot dogs over the fire, and four days of paddling down a river, finding their own campsites. This whole outing was very un-Veronica, but she, along with Archie, had apparently planned it themselves, right down to reserving canoes from a tour company that would meet them at the end of their four-days’ journey and drive them all back upriver to their cars.

“It’s a chance for us to reconnect, Betty,” Veronica had said, trying to convince her to come. “I know Archie and I have been spending a lot of time together lately, and I don’t want to be that girl, you know? The one that deserts her best friend when a new guy comes along.” She had put her hands on Betty’s shoulders, the corners of her pretty red lips drawn up in her winningest smile. “Please? Come! Share my tent! We’ll stay up talking and dish all our secrets like we used to do at sleepovers way back when we were kids.”

“Okay,” Betty had finally said, honestly warming up to the idea, feeling nostalgic for those good old days of crushes, makeovers, and homemade fudge.

Their first year of college had been a time of excitement and big changes, but also of pressure, stress, and insecurity. She and Veronica had moved from their small town to a big-city college and gotten an apartment together. And while Veronica never had to worry about covering tuition, making rent, or even drinking eight-dollar lattes, Betty was in a very different situation. She had – thankfully – won a scholarship, but it depended on maintaining stellar grades in an incredibly competitive program. And it didn’t pay for books, rent, or food. And through some miracle of self-discipline, Betty had managed to balance school, a part-time job, and adjusting to living on her own, finishing the year with excellent grades.

Now it was July. She was burned-out, ready for a break, and – truth be told – kind of lonely.

Veronica, meanwhile, had met a boy late in the fall and gotten immediately wrapped up in his social world, which consisted mainly of Archie’s childhood-best-friend-turned-roommate Jughead, and Toni and Cheryl, a couple who lived next door in the boys’ high-rise apartment building. Betty knew them a little bit, but not well – she was always grateful for the times they had come to her apartment to hang out, but neither her schedule nor her pocketbook had allowed her to tag along on many outings with the group.   

“I thought we had divided up the cars by musical taste? Did we _not_ do that?” Kevin groused quietly, almost rhetorically. “Isn’t that why I’m in here, and Joaquin is with the others?”

(And then there was Kevin – a classmate of Betty’s from English class, and a co-worker at the college library. The first thing he had ever said to her, as they were shelving books together in the art history section, was a whispered “you have amazing skin.” They were instant friends. Joaquin, his boyfriend, was in the other car – the “alternative/indie/rock” car.)

“It was kind of a loose arrangement,” Betty observed, smiling at Kevin in a conciliatory way.

“I mean,” Kevin continued in an undertone, rolling his eyes, as Archie and Veronica discussed the relative merits of greyhounds and whippets, “I guess we don’t all share the same definition of ‘EDM-inflected pop,’ but come on.”

“Are we talking about music?” Archie suddenly asked, rebounding from a lull in his conversation with Veronica. “Lemme put something on for you guys,” he enthused, as Kevin’s song faded out.

The opening notes of the song Archie cued up featured a piano riff, snaps, and a male vocal characterized by extreme twang.

Betty looked over at Kevin, whose face had frozen in uncomprehending horror.

Then the female vocal – high, expressive, and agile – joined in the harmony, and Kevin’s expression almost softened, but was gradually overtaken by abject disgust by the time they reached the chorus.

“It’s Florida Georgia Line,” Archie announced, grinning widely.

Kevin had closed his eyes and was pressing his fingers to his eyelids.

“Veronica, you and I could totally sing this as a duet!” Archie cried, grabbing her arm.

“Oh, Archiekins,” she crooned in response, flashing him a smile from behind her massive sunglasses – a melting, lovesick sort of smile, Betty realized – and putting her hand on his knee. _He makes her so happy_ , Betty thought, genuinely pleased for her friend. _God only knows why_ , she mused, laughing inwardly.

“Are we there yet?” Kevin mouthed at her across the car, tying his sweater around his ears.

\---

“Hey guys! Let’s sing a canoeing song while we paddle!” Archie suggested, grinning widely and churning his paddle vigorously through the water.

True to their word, the tour company had prepared four canoes for the group’s arrival, all ready to be loaded up and paddled down the river in search of a campsite for the first night of their trip.

It was beautiful, Betty thought, setting her paddle across her lap, filling her lungs with pure air and appreciating the warm sun and the lush green forest surrounding them. The river was beautiful: wide, lazy, sandy on the bottom, and a perfect temperature for swimming. The gentle current would make their voyage an easy an comfortable one. She was already glad she’d agreed to come.

“Is he ever _not_ totally stoked?” Kevin asked as the canoe he was sharing with Joaquin pulled up alongside Betty and Veronica’s.

“A canoeing song, Arch?” Jughead echoed skeptically from the back of their shared canoe. “Is that an actual genre of song? What, like a follow-up to ‘Row Row Row Your Boat?’”

“'Row row row!'” cheered Archie, and burst into song. Others joined in haphazardly, unsure at first, but gradually getting into the spirit of it. Pretty soon, as they drifted along, still testing out their paddling and steering techniques, and figuring out a formation, they were singing in a round – until uncontrollable giggles took over, and the singing stopped.

“Kevin,” Betty called over, “is Veronica still in the front of my canoe?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking over and furrowing his brow.

“It’s just… I can’t see her over all this stuff,” Betty teased.

“Betty, darling, you didn’t expect me to pack light, did you?” Veronica responded, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and turning to smile at her friend.

“Veronica,” Jughead called over, “if I so much as hear the first syllable of the g-word, so help me, I’m gonna jump right out of this canoe and swim back to civilization,” he declared, holding up both palms to signify his seriousness.

“First of all,” Cheryl shouted, “where is your paddle, you hobo?”

“Eh, Archie’s got this,” Jughead replied, waving a hand dismissively.

“Secondly,” Cheryl continued, “what, pray tell, is ‘the g-word’?”

Jughead opened his mouth and raised a finger to caution Cheryl, but “Glamping,” Veronica answered pre-emptively, and loudly, in a tone of mild exasperation. Clearly, she and Jughead had had this discussion before. “The word is glamping.”

Jughead shot to his feet, and the canoe rocked perilously from side to side. “You were warned, Veronica. You leave me no choice,” he stated, putting one hand over his heart, and threw himself in – boots, head-to-toe black outfit, crown beanie, and all.

The group erupted with laughter, shouts, and clapping as Jughead re-emerged several feet away from the canoe he’d just jumped out of and swam over to hang on the side of Betty and Veronica’s boat, where the giggling raven-haired girl teasingly hit him on the head with her paddle.

Jughead looked over at Betty through the dripping hair that partially covered his eyes, doffed his soaking cap with a squelch, and greeted her with a mock-genteel “Betty.” She laughed in response, inclining her head in a lady-like acknowledgement and his smile widened, reaching all the way up into the corners of his steel-blue eyes. She had always thought of him as sort of moody and quiet in a group – when he wasn’t zinging someone with a mumbled one-liner – but the fresh air and the dip in the river seemed to be loosening him up.

_And – gosh… has he always been so… cute?_

The question popped into her mind all on its own, and it took her quite by surprise. She actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d noticed a boy – any boy. Between essays, midterms, seminar prep, work, and sleep (when she could get it), she’d had a full plate. Boys were not on the menu.

 _Calm down, Betty_ , she told herself. _It’s just your post-semester brain coming back online._

Also, “cute” seemed like a funny word for someone who always dressed in black, listened to Very Serious Music (on vinyl), and got into heated political discussions with Joaquin (a poli sci major) on the regular anyway.

 _Maybe… handsome?_ She came back to the thought, giving herself permission to really look at his face as he treaded water, pretending not to hear Toni taunting him about fish swimming into his pants. And for the first time, she noticed that as angular as his face seemed in some ways – strong lines in his jaw and nose – it was soft in others: a wide, expressive mouth, full lips; a certain softness in the apples of his cheeks, softness around his eyes, which – she now saw – had an impish sparkle to them.

Jughead was swimming back to his canoe now, dodging pokes and splashes from everyone’s paddles along the way.

 _Okay, Betty, enough_ , she thought to herself, and tucked the question away for good.

“Listen up, campers!” Veronica was shouting over the general merriment. “We’re losing daylight! Let’s get going and find a spot to stop for the night!”

“ _Row, row, row your boat_ —"

\---

Finally, when the sunlight was starting to get heavier, more golden, and their arms were about ready to fall off, Betty and Veronica, who were leading the group, spotted it: the most perfect spot you could imagine for camping – a sandbar. Wide, dry, soft, beautiful, and right in the middle of the river.

“This is—” Betty shook her head, blown away by the natural beauty of their surroundings.

“It’s perfect,” Veronica squealed, clapping her hands. “Land ho, everybody!”

One by one, the canoes were pushed up onshore and the campers hauled their supplies into the site. Tents popped up to dot the island, camping chairs were arranged in a circle around what looked like the perfect spot for a campfire, and out of the coolers came copious snacks and cans of beer.

 _Not too shabby_ , Betty mused: from wilderness to cozy domestic scene in under an hour. She rolled out her sleeping bag inside the state-of-the-art tent she and Veronica were sharing. It had built-in lights, a raised floor, and was made of material that could somehow heat, cool, be waterproof, _and_ breathe.  

And then there was Veronica’s sleeping bag: it looked like something an astronaut would lie in to hibernate on her way to a distant galaxy. Betty reached out a hand to feel the fabric – it was unnaturally soft, pink, iridescent, and generally unsettling, she decided. “Isn’t this so great, B?” Veronica gushed as they arranged their things inside the tent. “It’s going to be just like all our old slumber parties! I can’t wait to just talk and giggle all night.”

“Me too, V. This was such a great idea. Thank you so much for organizing it.” The girls shared a fond smile and wrapped their arms around each other in a hug. Satisfied with their set-up, they re-emerged onto the beach.

“Jug,” Archie was saying, lugging a cooler and frowning at his best friend, who was lounging, still wet, in one of the chairs, working his way through a bag of chips, “the tent is all set up. Why don’t you change out of those wet clothes already?”

“Clothes?” Jughead scoffed. “Oh no, I didn’t pack clothes,” he said, to a chorus of vaguely disgusted sounds from the rest of the group. “I needed all that room for food,” he explained, looking more than a little surprised that people didn’t seem to understand his logic. “And books.”

Kevin exchanged glances with Toni and Cheryl. “The straights are at it again,” he observed dryly.

“Hey, don’t lump us in with him,” Archie protested.

“Are you wearing cargo shorts right now?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah--”

“Are you wearing those sandals with all the complicated Velcro straps?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Then I rest my case.”

Looking befuddled, Archie wandered over to the cooler to get himself another beer. “Anyone up for a game of touch?” he queried enthusiastically, and was met with almost complete silence.

“I guess we should start getting some firewood together, huh?” said Toni, who had changed into her bikini and was grabbing a canoe to bring over to the shore in the hopes of finding some combustible material to bring back.

“I’ll help,” Joaquin offered, rifling through one of his bags and producing a machete.

“Jesus Christ, Joaquin,” Toni exclaimed, recoiling when she saw the knife. “Kevin, nice to know your boyfriend is low-key psycho.”

Kevin smiled mischievously at Joaquin, who tossed the machete into the canoe with a chuckle. “It’s just a tool, people, calm down. Pretty handy for cutting brush, too.”

“Alright then, Crocodile Dundee. Lead the way,” said Toni with an eye roll.

“Don’t take too long,” Cheryl cooed from the shore with a roguish smile, settling herself on a towel with a glass of rosé. Toni turned to blow a kiss over her shoulder and waded into the river.

\---

When the hotdogs (or veggie dogs, for Toni and Cheryl) had all been roasted and eaten, a good number of beers had been downed, and the sun had sunk below the horizon, Archie fetched his guitar out of his tent and there was a general stifled groan. But then he began strumming, very quietly and lazily, and Betty was surprised at how nice it was, how well the mellow sound complemented the mood of the moment.

“This is nice,” she murmured to Joaquin, who sat to her right. Beside him was Kevin, then Jughead.

“As long as we don’t need to hear any of Archie’s own super-personal angsty stuff,” Joaquin said quietly, so as not to be overheard, wincing a little at the memory of past performances.

“Yeah, Archie really does see himself as America’s answer to Ed Sheeran, doesn’t he?” Kevin mused.

“Yikes,” said Jughead with a snort, tossing back the last of the beer in his can. “That’s not saying much.”

“Guys,” Betty chastised, “come on. He is actually pretty talented.”

Their faces got shifty.

“Ok, well… he is our friend,” she pointed out. They acquiesced.

“Betty,” said Jughead, standing up and shaking the empty can. “Another one?”

“Please,” she smiled. Then, looking across the campfire at Archie, “it sounds great, Arch,” she called, and he smiled back. Veronica had moved her chair right up against Archie’s and was gazing adoringly at him as his fingers moved across the strings.

A can suddenly appeared from above, obstructing her view: Jughead had come back around behind her and snuck up to pass the beer to her over her head. “Thanks,” she said sarcastically, laughing. He smiled at her, holding her gaze as he walked back to his chair.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down and looking around. “Where are Cheryl and—you know what? Never mind, stupid question, not sure why I even said that out loud.”

“So, Jug,” Betty said, clearing her throat and looking for a way to change the subject, “Veronica tells me you’ve got a summer job in a bookstore? That sounds cool.”

“Yeah!” his face lit up – very uncharacteristically, Betty thought, marveling at his ability to go from less than 0 to 60 in a split second when he got animated enough. “It’s a little independent store, they sell mostly used books but some new also. The other week, apparently,” he lowered his voice, conspiratorially, “Toni Morrison came in. Like, just to _browse_ … not a book signing or an appearance or anything.”

“Get out!” Betty leapt to the edge of her chair, excited and filled with envy. “She is my favorite novelist. Of all time. Seriously, Jug, that’s unbelievable!”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her in a cocky sort of way as he took a sip of his beer, and she saw his expression suddenly turn to one of concern. Following his gaze, she looked over at Veronica and Archie, who were now fully making out as Archie continued to play the guitar.

She looked back at Jughead, and the two exchanged an amused look that said, simply, _wow_.

“Now _that’s_ talent,” he observed wryly, lifting his beer in Archie’s direction. Betty struggled to bite back a laugh and the guitar fell out of Archie’s grasp as he pulled Veronica onto his lap, making a discordant, jangling thud as it landed.

“And with that,” said Kevin, looking over at Betty, and then Jughead, slapping his knees with his hands and standing up, “we will bid you goodnight.”

The blonde looked at her beer, and at Jughead’s. They’d just opened these, and Betty wasn’t sure about Jughead, but she wanted to finish hers. It had been such a pleasant evening, out under the stars among good friends, with the sweet smell of forest air filling her nose and her lungs, Betty hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages. So, trying to distract from the scene unfolding on the other side of the fire, “tell me more about this job of yours,” she asked, leaning over toward him, resting her chin on her hand. “I have to say, I’m super jealous already.”

With a soft laugh, fiddling with his beer can, he looked down as he replied. “I mean, the store seems really cool. The job itself is just… like, shelving books.”

“Hey, that’s what I do,” Betty observed archly. “If you ever need pointers,” she teased, “please know I'm available to mentor you.”

They both chortled as they sipped their drinks. Looking up, she noticed that their friends were no longer sitting across from them. As she was about to make a comment about this to Jughead, she heard the loud zing of a tent zipper opening, followed by a similar sound signifying its closure.

Wordlessly, she and Jughead looked at one another, both knowing exactly what was happening.

“That’s my tent,” he whispered indignantly.

Then, there was another, quieter zipper sound, and Jughead was suddenly on his feet. “Hey,” he stammered, “wanna take a little midnight stroll to the other end of the island right now? No reason.”

“Yeah,” she said, “let’s go.”

Once she had turned away from the fire, she realized the air was much cooler, and she shivered a little as they made their way to the southern end of the sandbar, where they sat down to finish their drinks. She pulled her hood up over her head and scratched at the sand absent-mindedly with her index finger.

“So much for ‘hanging out with my bro,’” Jughead said scornfully, making air quotes. He was, as usual, being sardonic, but Betty detected a definite note of disappointment in his voice, something she was feeling too.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, shaking her head with an ironic smile. “This trip was going to be all about ‘reconnecting’ and ‘reliving the good old days of slumber parties,’” she said.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Betty pushed her toes into the sand, over and over, and settled her feet into the cool, wet pocket she'd made.

“He is really crazy about her. Man,” Jughead observed, chancing a look over his shoulder at the tents.

“It’s kind of cute, actually,” said Betty. “And he’s so good to her. As her best friend, I approve. He’s a good guy.”

“Archie is – what’s that expression? Salt of the earth,” he said, a pensive smile on his lips. “You know, we really are kind of like brothers. Growing up, my parents… well, let’s just say there were some problems at home. He sort of figured that all out without me ever saying anything – he was _twelve_ , Betty – and his dad took me in. Just like that. He is – yeah, one of the best people out there, actually.”

“God, Jughead – I didn’t know,” Betty said, and impulsively laid a hand gently on his arm, then wondered if that was an ok thing to do, or too patronizing, or too much touching, or—

He looked over at her with a soft smile. _I guess it’s ok_ , she thought.

“Sorry,” she offered, meeting his eyes as she took her hand away. “I’m glad Archie and his family were good to you. You know, Veronica definitely comes from money, but there wasn’t a lot of stability in her life growing up, either. Her dad was in jail for a while – I’m not sure whether she’s ever mentioned—”

“No, Jesus, no. She didn’t. Wow, that’s too bad. Funny, though – we’ve got that in common, I guess,” he said with a nervous chuckle, genuinely fascinated by this shared fact about their childhoods, but clearly also a little shy about having disclosed such sensitive and sordid pieces of his past.

They sipped their beers for a while, looking at the stars reflected on the rippling surface of the river and enjoying the peace of its constant white noise.

“They’re not coming out of there anytime soon, are they?” he observed grimly.

Betty cringed. “I guess not.”

He blew air out through his cheeks, stretched his legs out, and crossed them at the ankles. “You don’t have to…”

“Have to what?”

“Wait up with me,” he said, and tried to twist his now-empty beer can into the sand like a screw.

“Oh, I’m not,” she replied, making a little round pile of sand with one hand.

“I mean you should go to bed – if you want to,” he said.

“I know I could,” she said. “I guess it is getting kind of late.”

“I’ll be fine out here,” he said.

“What? Jughead, no,” she replied, adamantly. “You cannot sleep out here. It’s already getting pretty cold.”

“Eh. I’ll just sleep in one of the chairs by the fire.”

“Don’t be silly,” she admonished, sitting up straight to make her point. “There’s a perfectly good sleeping bag – okay, well, it’s perfectly weird and terrifying, to be honest, but it’s the latest and most expensive thing, and it's not being used – in my tent.”

“Betty, you don’t have to—”

“I know, Jug. I’m the one offering, remember?”

“But it’s so awkward,” he moaned, covering his face with his hands, then pulling them away to look at Betty with a remorseful expression. “They’ve made this so awkward. I'm sorry.”

“It’s only awkward if _we_ make it awkward,” she corrected him. “I know we don’t know each other really well, but come on. Just use the tent. It’s not a big deal at all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, squinting one eye and allowing himself to look hopeful all of a sudden.

“Yes.”

“Thank God,” he breathed. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Come on,” she said, in her briskest possible voice, sounding even to herself like the plucky heroine in a 1940s film.

“I promise I won’t take up too much room,” he said, getting to his feet, his voice – for once – devoid of irony. And something about his soft tone, mixed with what he’d just confessed about his rootless childhood, made her heart squeeze a little in her chest.

“I don’t mind,” she replied with a warm smile. He smiled back at her, and in the moonlight, the blue of his eyes was as dark and deep as the river.

\---

And then they found themselves in the tent. Together. And the reality of sharing a space the size of a bathroom stall with someone she barely knew – _a boy_ – all night caught up to her and her heart was thumping like she'd had too much espresso.

She was hyperaware of the sound of his breathing. She was hyperaware of the sound of her own breathing. She was hyperaware of each and every little rustling noise either of them made as they shifted around, trying to get comfortable on thin mats.

She was hyperaware also that they were lying there together practically half-naked: although both had snuggled right down into their zippered sleeping bags before removing their pants and sweatshirts, the reality was they were both now lying side-by-side wearing next to nothing.

She was hyperaware of how very, very close their faces were inside that tent, and that he smelled like mint and woodsmoke.

“Good night,” she whispered in a vain attempt to somehow turn all of that off so she could get to sleep.

“Good night,” he replied, also whispering, so close his breath fanned her cheek. And maybe she was tired, or it was the beer she'd drank, or the warm fire, or maybe the fresh air was going to her head, but at the sound of his voice – breathy, scratchy, low – a tiny firework went off inside her stomach. Glitter twinkled dimly in her chest.

Well, that wasn’t going to help. She rolled over to face the wall of the tent.

“Don’t tell Veronica I said this,” he hissed, “but this sleeping bag is fucking amazing.”

Betty smiled in the darkness, closed her eyes, and tried not to imagine his body inside that sleeping bag, covered in nothing but underwear.

 

 

Too late.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t love at first sight.

No, Jughead actually couldn’t even remember the first time he met Betty. Veronica started appearing around his apartment with Archie from time to time – but so had plenty of other girls, at least at first. That’s what it had almost always been like, being Archie’s friend: a steady stream of pizza, video games, good laughs, and Archie-associated girls.

In sharp contrast to his best friend, Jughead didn’t care all that much about girls. If he were pressed, he’d admit to being interested in them – technically, anyway. As in, he knew he wasn’t gay, or asexual, but girls had just never really held his attention the way novels, writing, listening to music, or eating had done. So when Betty tagged along from time to time, it made very little impression on him.

But when, over the course of the Fall semester, the stream of girls gradually dwindled down to one main girl – Veronica – Betty became a semi-regular feature, and a person Jughead didn’t mind seeing around. She was smart, well-read, interesting to talk to. As a fellow humanities student, they had plenty in common. Certainly, Archie had dated girls with way more annoying friends in the past.

Then one day, around the end of November, he was in the kitchen of his apartment, making himself a sandwich. It was a Sunday. Rainy. Veronica and Betty had come over and the foursome was spending the day working on their respective term projects. Archie was putting together a PowerPoint presentation on management styles for business 101; Veronica was plotting a research poster for a geography course; Jughead was assembling an annotated bibliography on the history of political revolutions; Betty was fussing over a detailed plasticine reproduction of an Incan building for her ancient art and artifacts class.

Absorbed in sandwich-making for the moment, Jughead was carefully balancing sliced radishes on sliced pickles and tomatoes on oven-roasted turkey breast for the perfect combination of sweet, salt, and bite when he overheard Betty tell the group she needed a glass of water.

“Hey, what’s this part?” he heard Archie say, and although Jughead had his back to them he could just tell that Archie was reaching out to touch whatever piece of Betty’s sculpture he was asking about. Classic Archie.

“Ah ah ah!” Betty warned him. “Do _not_ touch that, Archie. Your primitive intellect wouldn’t understand things with alloys and compositions and things with... molecular structures!”

Jughead’s spine snapped into a straight line, his mouth fell open, and the air rushed into his lungs with a gasp.

“Wow, harsh!” Archie replied.

Betty laughed. “I’m kidding, Arch – it’s just a line from a movie. But seriously, don’t touch.”

Betty was quoting…

 _Evil Dead 3_?

Only one of Jughead’s top 10 favorite movies of all time.

Maybe even top 5, if he was being honest.

She’d seen that movie? She could _quote_ that movie?

His heart swelled up and popped like a balloon. All the times he’d ever interacted with Betty flashed before his eyes like a high-speed highlight reel, all of it bathed in a completely new light. There was a weird roaring in his ears. He felt uncomfortably hot and shaky all over. For the first time in his entire life, he lost his appetite.

Jughead Jones was instantly, totally, irrevocably, _painfully_ in love.

Then she was breezing into the kitchen, stepping over to the cupboards, opening the one with the cups, and stretching up to grab one, her arm mere inches from Jughead’s pale, thunderstruck face, completely unaware of the apocalyptic change she’d just triggered in the boy with the beanie.

He turned his eyes – the only part of his body that was still working, apparently – to look at her, and it was like putting on glasses after a lifetime not even knowing he needed them. Everything about her was sharp and clear and meaningful: he saw that her hair, which he’d previously processed as “yellow,” was actually made up of strands of every color from chestnut to flax; there were tiny golden flecks in her vivid green eyes; he suddenly felt he could spend the rest of his life studying the intricate pink spiral shell of her ear.

“Hey Jug,” she chirped casually, glancing at his sandwich on her way to the sink. “That looks good!”

Her voice was like the most beautiful music he’d ever heard.

He froze, panicked. _How did talking work again? What were words?_

“Hi,” he finally managed to whisper.

Troubled by the sound of his voice, she turned the water off and came back over to him, her brow creased. “Jug? You okay?”

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. His head was spinning. He still couldn’t move.

“You don’t look okay,” she replied, and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

_Oh God, she’s touching me. With her hand._

“You look kinda… pale,” she observed, lowering her hand. “Maybe you’re just hungry? Try some of your sandwich.”

His stomach rolled.

“Not hungry,” he breathed.

“What?” she cried, her hand flying to her mouth. “Archie! Jughead says he’s not hungry!”

“Ohmygod,” was the response from the living room, as Archie threw his books and papers off his lap to rush into the kitchen. “Jug, stay with me, old buddy; everything’s gonna be okay,” he was murmuring, wrapping a strong arm around his friend’s waist and helping him into a chair. “Sandwich!” he snapped at Betty, holding out his palm like a surgeon.

Betty hastily topped the radish layer with a piece of bread and handed the product to Archie.

“Come on, Jug, one bite,” he urged in a motherly tone, holding the sandwich up to Jughead’s lips.

Closing his eyes and willing himself back to normal, Jughead took a deep breath. How did people like Archie cope with all these feelings? Jesus. If falling for a girl was like this for Archie too, then, man – he had seriously underestimated his best friend’s strength. Well, he thought, he’d just have to find whatever container these feelings had come from inside his brain, shove them back in there, and seal it back up. No sweat.

He opened his eyes. He saw the sandwich. He took a bite. As he chewed it, he pictured himself pushing a sparkly cloud into a box. He swallowed. He imagined stretching packing tape over the lid. The shaking stopped and he felt the tension drain out of his muscles. He smiled. The three concerned faces crowded around him also relaxed.

“Atta boy,” said Archie with a relieved chuckle, ruffling Jughead’s hair. “Close call there, huh, buddy? You know what? You should keep a bag of almonds handy – you wouldn’t want your blood sugar to tank like that again.”

“No,” said Jughead, reaching out to grab the sandwich and taking another bite. “You’re right. Thanks, Arch.”

Archie draped his arm around Veronica’s shoulders as they turned back to the living room. Betty took a sip of her water and, as she walked out of the kitchen, threw him a fleeting smile.

The packing tape started to curl, and the box strained at the seams, but – for now, anyway – the cloud stayed put.

\---

Over the months that followed, Jughead found ways to keep the precariously-sealed box shut. Studying helped. He didn’t talk about it to anybody. And as much as possible, he avoided Betty: seeing her, talking to her, hearing her voice. It actually wasn’t too hard. Everyone was busy.

And then finals were over, and Archie started talking about organizing a camping trip with the whole gang, and something in his mind started to shift a little. By this point, he was getting used to the big feelings he had for Betty -- they weren’t quite as overwhelming. He was no longer paralyzed in her presence. And with that new level of comfort came a question, quiet at first, but getting louder: why was he trying so hard to shut them away?

 _Because_ – he told himself – _I’m not Archie. I’m not someone girls look at in that way._

_But – how would I even know? I’ve never paid attention to them. And I don’t care about “girls” as an abstract category, anyway? I’m only interested in… her._

_Just Betty._

Gradually, he realized that he wanted to see her. He wanted to talk to her. In fact, he wanted to know everything about her.

But would she feel the same way?

Therein lay the problem.

He’d have to keep the lid on that box.

\---

The high-tech fabric of the tent was lightening when Betty opened her eyes, roused by the sounds of enamel pots and pans, cooler lids, and voices. For a moment she forgot where she was – and with whom – but then the memory of last night’s last-minute tent-switch came back, and she turned to look at Jughead, still asleep in Veronica’s strange cocoon of a sleeping bag.

He was facing her, his face soft and peaceful, his head bare for the first time she could remember. His eyelashes were surprisingly long, she thought. Her eyes lingered on the dark curl of hair that hung over his forehead; the pattern of moles on his cheek; the dusting of stubble on his chin and jaw. _Handsome_ , she thought. _Definitely handsome_.

Almost as if he’d sensed her eyes on his face, his eyes fluttered open and met hers before she had a chance to look away. He smiled at her – a soft, contented smile, one that pushed his cheeks up into his eyes, which crinkled shut as he stretched a little inside the sleeping bag. Then he seemed to wake up enough to become self-conscious, and his face changed: the smile stayed, but it was a little more polite, a little more guarded. “Hey,” he said.

“Morning,” she replied.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You?”

“God, yes. This bag might be the most comfortable place I’ve ever slept,” he chuckled.

“Only the best for Veronica.”

“Hey, thanks,” he said, “for letting me crash in here last night.”

“No problem,” she said, smiling, starting to wonder how she was going to get her pants back on in the daylight.

Then, “wakey, wakey!” sang a voice from outside the tent, and someone’s fist was pretending to knock on the flap. Jughead sat up and unzipped the corner of the flap to reveal Kevin’s face, lit up in a megawatt smile. “Rise and shine, lovebirds,” he crooned.

“Kevin,” Betty started, shaking her head.

“I mean, I knew it was gonna happen sometime, but boy, you two moved _fast_!” he teased.

For the first time since probably junior high, Betty blushed – from her chest to the roots of her hair. “Kevin!” she scolded him.

Jughead didn’t seem the least bit flustered. “Very funny, man. Betty was kind enough to let me stay in here after I sort of got kicked out of my own tent,” he explained.

“Oh I knew that,” said Kevin, winking at Betty. “Just messing with you.”  

“Kevin: quite the kidder,” Betty replied with a sarcastic laugh, feeling dumb that she’d let him provoke such an obvious reaction in her.

They wiggled into pants inside their sleeping bags and emerged into the daylight and fresh air. The sunlight was already warm, drying up the dew that had settled on the tents overnight. Someone had built the fire up and made coffee over it. The smell of bacon drifted through the campsite. All in all, Betty reflected – Kevin’s hijinks notwithstanding – this wasn’t such a bad way to wake up.

“Hey, sleepyheads,” Veronica called over from the other end of the sandbar, where she and Archie were busy packing up a canoe with their bags.

“Morning,” Betty replied, squinting, momentarily confused by what she was seeing. So Veronica and Archie had shared a tent last night, and now it looked like they were going to be sharing a canoe as well? Really?

“Guys,” Jughead called, his voice a little weary – Betty could tell he’d just figured out the same thing she had. “Can I at least reclaim my sleeping bag?”

“You’re probably better off just… uh… switching with Ronnie at this point, man,” was Archie’s evasive reply as he tried to fit all the gear under the gunnel.

“Alright,” he called back, picking up on the subtext, and nudged Betty’s elbow on his way past her to the campfire. “Coffee, partner?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, resigned.

\---

“Don’t get me wrong,” Betty said, dipping her paddle to one side, then the other, trying to keep the canoe from turning sideways as they passed through a stretch of slightly swirling currents. She was finding it harder, for some reason, to keep the boat on a straight course. The shadows cast by trees were lengthening over the sparkling river and the riverbanks were a kaleidoscope of green as the day faded into a hazy, humid afternoon. The group had drifted apart after lunch, some campers eager to paddle ahead while others took it easy, figuring the water only ran one way, and they’d ultimately meet back up to make camp anyway.

“I’m more than happy to hang out with you, Jug, and it’s been a great trip in lots of ways. But it’s just–“ she swallowed, trying not to let her voice get too emotional. “Veronica said, specifically, that she wanted this trip to be about us reconnecting as friends. She acknowledged that she’d been really wrapped up with Archie. She said she didn’t want to be ‘that girl.’ Well, guess who’s totally being ‘that girl’ right now! Why is she doing this? God!” she huffed, digging in the paddle and pulling as hard as she could to dispel the nervous energy gathering in the muscles of her arms as she worked through her frustration. “Sorry,” she mumbled after a moment. “Look who I’m talking to. You’re probably feeling about the same way right now, huh?” she said.

No answer.

“Jug?”

Silence.

“Jug?”

Setting the paddle across the bow, she twisted herself around to look at Jughead, who was sprawled across the back of the canoe, fast asleep.

“JUG!” she yelled, reaching back to poke him with her paddle.

He jolted awake, looking guilty. “Sorry. Guess I drifted off there.”

She set the paddle down and put her face in her hands, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

“Crap, I’m the worst,” he said.

“No, Jug, it’s alright. You had a big lunch.”

“I did. Still--”

“Those two.” She shook her head.

He laughed through his nose. “Yeah.”

She picked her head up and looked around, trying to snap out of her funk. At least they were somewhere beautiful. And at least she was with someone who understood her disappointment, even if he did take impromptu naps while she was pouring her heart out. The sun was warm on her shoulders. Then something along the riverbank caught her eye: “over there,” she cried, pointing, “raspberries!”

“Thank God,” said Jughead. “I’m starving.”

\---

They had pulled their canoe up to the shore and gotten out to pick the berries, which were plump and warm to the touch, loading down the prickly branches of the raspberry cane in the afternoon sun and filling the air with their earthy, sweet scent. Betty pulled off her ball cap to serve as a makeshift bucket, and together, she and Jughead had easily gathered a few handfuls of the ripe, ruby-red fruit in a few minutes.

“That’s a big boy over there,” Jughead noted, his eye on a particularly juicy berry hanging tantalizingly in the midst of a tangle of prickles. “You’re mine,” he breathed, carefully reaching between the branches to pluck it. “Success!” But as he pulled his hand out, a thorn left a long white trail along the inside of his forearm. They both looked at it, and Betty stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated display of sympathy. “Worth it,” he said, shrugging, and popped the berry into his mouth with a smile.

She giggled and ate one out of the hat, savoring its sweet-tart tang as it burst against her tongue. “Ooh, this one’s even nicer,” she said, handing the hat to him and reaching for a berry high on one of the bushes. It looked exposed and easily picked, but it was hiding a thorn, which instantly pierced her index finger. She yelped in surprise at the sharp pain, dropping the berry and clutching the afflicted hand.

“Shit, you weren’t cursed by a witch or anything as a baby, were you?” he joked, casually holding his hand out for him to show him her injury. She put the finger in her mouth and sucked, the metallic taste of blood tainting what remained of the raspberry. His eyes dropped to her mouth, his lips softly parting. She pulled the finger out and looked at it, then held it out to show him the tiny drop of blood already gathering on the tip. Long, nimble fingers wrapped around her loosely-curled fist and pulled it toward his face. For a breathless moment she had the impression that he might be going to kiss it better. Slowly, he peeled open her fingers to reveal – _oh, shit_.

She yanked her palm away, her heart hammering in her chest.  

A secret pattern of crescent-shaped scars on her palm.   

His eyes flashed up to meet her own, his expression a mix of apologetic and anxious.

She couldn’t seem to find any words, nothing to deflect to. It just was what it was – the scars were there, he’d seen them, there was no pretending. So she looked up at him and shrugged. He smiled back, his eyes sympathetic and kind, betraying no judgment, and no desire to pry. Her heart overflowed with appreciation for that simple moment of acceptance.

“Come on,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I’ll get you a band-aid out of my backpack.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly, and they headed back to their canoe.

\---

It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at the site Archie and Veronica had landed on as the ideal spot to camp for the night – a grassy, treed area on the riverbank, set back a little from a strip of sandy beach.

“This looks great!” Betty exclaimed as they came ashore.

They were the second to last canoe to get there, a fact that earned Betty no end of teasing looks from Kevin.

“Raspberries, huh?” he’d said, looking them both up and down as though he expected to find physical evidence of some kind of tryst on them. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Where’s Toni and Cheryl?” Joaquin wondered as they started a pile of wood for the campfire. By then it had been more than an hour since Betty and Jughead arrived. “I’m starting to get a little worried.”

A moment later, the girls' canoe came in view, floating around the bend in the river, strangely empty.

“Guys…” said Archie, who’d spotted it. “I think something’s wrong. Did they fall out?”

“We’re down here,” came Toni’s voice, shouting from inside the canoe. Her face peered up from the bottom of the boat, where she and Cheryl were, it now became clear, lying together. She lifted a hand and waved, smiling contentedly.

“Nice strong current, not much point paddling,” said Toni mischievously. “So we, you know, took it easy.”

“Wow,” said Kevin, looking deeply impressed. “Now, Betty, _that’s_ how it’s done.”

“Shut up, Kevin,” she replied, elbowing him playfully.

“Frisbee?” Archie called. Everyone was in, so they spread out around the beach, in the shallow part of the river, and up into the grass. They threw and caught the disc in creative ways, running, diving, falling (semi-accidentally) into the water, laughing hysterically and cheering one another on.

“You are shockingly good at this,” Jughead told Betty, opening his hands to catch a throw she’d just made from under her leg.

“‘Shockingly’?” she repeated with a chuckle, smiling broadly as she teased him. “Hm. Just what about my skill in this sport is shocking to you, Mr. Jones?”

He pursed his lips and smiled in a roguish way, realizing there was no good answer to that question.

“I’m still waiting!” she called, enjoying the chance to torment him. “It’s not because I’m a _girl_ , is it? Because we all thought you were a feminist, Jug.”

“I _am_ a feminist,” he replied, “I just… I mean, I guess… I just never pictured you playing frisbee specifically,” he stammered, trying to dig himself out of a hole.

“Interesting, Jug,” Kevin chimed it. “And what _have_ you pictured Betty doing? Don’t be shy. We’re all _dying_ to know.”

Jughead smiled in an offhand way, trying to play along with Kevin’s merciless taunts, but – much to Betty’s shock – he visibly blushed.

_Oh my God._

“Um… writing bold investigative journalism?” Jughead finally said. “You’ve had some stuff published in the University paper—right, Betty?”

“I have,” she replied, feeling her throat constrict in surprise as she caught Veronica’s throw hovering in the wind above her head.

“I read it,” he said, his voice quiet, his eyes glued to the frisbee as she threw it to him. “It was really good.”

Betty’s heart leapt and she was suddenly shy, not knowing quite where to look. “Thanks, Jug,” she replied sincerely, deciding to act more self-confident than she felt. She peered at Kevin out of the corner of her eye, expecting him to be hanging, impishly, on whatever happened next. But with Jughead’s comment, the energy had shifted, and Kevin was walking away from her, over to Joaquin.

She turned back to Jughead, who looked up from the frisbee as he fiddled with it to smile at her – a different kind of smile than he’d given her before, strangely vulnerable. Then his expression shifted and he started walking toward the river.  

“Let’s set up the tent,” he suggested. She turned to follow him.

\---

“Favourite shape?” Joaquin asked the group, passing the bottle of Wild Turkey to Kevin as it made yet another trip around the campfire. (“Takes up less room than beer!” he’d explained. It was hard to argue with logic like that.)

Kevin swigged quickly from the bottle, screwing his face up as he swallowed. “Triangle,” he answered. “For obvious reasons.”

“Triangles are cool,” Jughead conceded, nodding seriously. “I’m with you on that. I guess I’m a Pythagorean at heart.”

“Okay, I’m not going to pretend that what you just said makes any sense,” Cheryl said, reaching for the bottle Kevin was passing to her. “But the best shape is _obviously_ a circle.”

“How do you figure?” Veronica asked.

“It’s round. It’s neat. It’s… just… perfect,” she said.

“Like you, sweetheart,” Toni crooned, wrapping her arm around Cheryl’s shoulders and tipping the bottle up to her lips with the other hand.

“I’m really surprised nobody’s saying square,” Betty interjected, putting another marshmallow on her roasting stick with great concentration.

“Trust Betty Cooper to speak up for the squares,” Kevin laughed. “She’s one of them, after all.”

Betty held her marshmallow over the flame and made a face at Kevin. “No, seriously. They’re the best shape: the strongest, the most dependable, the most balanced – they make the best building blocks.”

“Well, rectangles can do that, too,” Joaquin noted.

“Squares are a kind of rectangle, _sir_ ,” she replied, feeling herself get passionate. “I would include them in the same category.”

Joaquin arched his eyebrows, considering whether that was an acceptable claim.

“All books are rectangles. Phones, tablets, television – windows! All rectangular,” she declared, just getting warmed up.

“Betty—your marshmallow!” Veronica cried, pointing.

In her fervent defense of four-sidedness, Betty had neglected the treat, which was now a flaming ball of black on the end of her stick. “Ah rats!” she said, scraping it off onto one of the logs in the fire.

“Here,” Jughead offered, pulling his own expertly-roasted, golden marshmallow off his stick and holding it out to her. “Have mine.”

She thought about declining, but the slight smile on his face, that pulled the corners of his mouth up into tiny dimples, revealing just the tips of his teeth, made it impossible. He was proud of that marshmallow. And it did look incredible.

“Thanks, Jug,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “You earned it,” he replied. “Someone’s gotta stick up for the squares.”

\---

It was late. The bottle was now half-empty, the bag of marshmallows completely empty, and the fire getting low.

“Guess it’s time to turn in,” Archie said, stretching.

“Where’s the moon?” Toni asked, looking at the sky with disapproval.

“It’s a new moon – tonight or tomorrow, I think,” Cheryl replied. ( _Of course she would know these things_ , Betty mused, smiling to herself.)

“Goodnight, folks,” said Joaquin, and they went their separate ways to wash up and get into bed.

When Betty had brushed her teeth and helped douse the fire, she met Jughead at the door of their tent. He held the flap open for her. “After you,” he said with an ironic bow.

She got down on hands and knees and crawled over to her sleeping bag, nestled down into it, and wriggled out of her pants. The fire, the marshmallows, the Wild Turkey, and the fresh air were conspiring to produce a pleasant kind of mellow hum throughout her body as she relaxed her limbs.

“Ah,” she said as Jughead zipped the flap closed behind him. “It’s good to lie down. My arms and back are killing me after all that paddling. I think I’ve been using muscles I didn’t know I had.”

Jughead laughed. “Yeah, same here. Although I don’t think I was working quite as hard as you today.”

“Fair point,” she replied, and clicked off the flashlight.

He chuckled softly at the sudden change. “Wow,” he said, “it is... extremely dark in here now. Mind-bendingly dark.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agreed. “Want me to turn it back on?”

“No,” he said lazily, “I kind of like it.”

“It _is_ weird, though,” she whispered after a moment. “I keep expecting my eyes to adjust, but they don’t. It feels… like there’s something over my eyes. Like being blindfolded or something.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Almost claustrophobic.”

“Yet, you say you like it.”

“I’m weird,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

A silence settled between them. “You still awake?” she eventually asked, feeling not quite ready for the night to end.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed. Then “wow,” he said, “this is getting strange. Now I’m having trouble picturing your face when I hear you talk.”

“Oh yeah? Am I just a blank space?”

“Not exactly. My brain is just showing me sort of a— a cartoon face. Like a pretty girl emoji,” he murmured.

_Pretty?_

Butterflies came to life in her stomach, her pulse quickened, and she was thankful it was too dark for him to see her.

“Hm,” she replied in a humorous tone, trying not to get carried away, “I’m not familiar with that one.”

“I mean,” he whispered, hesitating a little, “maybe it’s not Unicode-official.” She heard him smile. “Maybe I’m just picturing a smiley face. But it’s a very pretty smiley face.”

More butterflies. Gosh, it was getting crowded in there. “A little jaundiced, though,” she said.

“Eh, doesn’t bother me.”

“Now it’s happening to me, too,” she whispered in mock-distress. “What do you look like, again?”

“I’m the nerdy emoji, obviously,” he replied confidently.

“Nope, sorry. My brain isn’t displaying that.”

“Needs an update,” he mused.

“I guess.” She smiled.

“Is this what it’s like being in a sensory deprivation chamber? I’ve heard it makes people hallucinate.”

“ _Are_ you hallucinating right now?” she lifted her head.

“No,” he laughed. “But my brain is definitely filling in what it can’t see in surprising ways.”

“Here,” she said, fumbling in the dark and making haphazard contact with the firm shape of his body in the sleeping bag beside her.

“Whoa, excuse me,” he said, feigning indignation, and she laughed. “What are you looking for?”

“Just your hand.”

“Here,” he said, pulling it out and feeling around for hers. She grabbed it and guided it, teasingly, onto the side of her face. “Does this help?”

He laughed a little. “Hm, maybe.”

She let go of his hand, having intended it only as a joke. But he began to move his fingers, tenderly and methodically, on her skin, apparently taking the exercise seriously. He swept them gently across her forehead, down the ridge of her nose and back up, ever-so-softly over her eyelid and onto her cheek, cupping her jaw and stroking the side of her mouth with his thumb. Then his fingertips skimmed slowly across her lips and back again with a featherlight touch.

He was taking his time, mapping all the lines and curves in her face.

Her breath had caught in her throat, but the absolute darkness they lay in made everything dreamlike, heightened yet surreal, so that, instead of retreating into self-consciousness, she happily surrendered herself to his touch, closing her eyes and opening her face to him like a flower.

And then his fingers were moving back onto her cheekbone, her jaw, the lobe of her ear, her hairline. She could both feel and hear that he was shifting his body around a little, inching closer. His breath tickled the inside corner of her eye and the side of her nose; she knew his face was right in front of hers. Then, she felt his lips on hers. It wasn’t a kiss, exactly: he was brushing across her mouth slowly, back and forth, doing with his lips what he’d done with his fingers, tracing their image in his mind. She felt a rush of electricity course through her body from where their lips met. She could hear and feel the breath moving in and out of his nose; she could smell a warm mix of alcohol, peppermint, and pine. It was intoxicating.

He stopped and drew back, but his thumb edged over to the corner of her mouth – the way you’d put your thumb between the pages of a book to hold your place – and then his lips were on hers again. This time, it was a real kiss; he pressed his mouth against hers, once, softly, and pulled back with gentle suction. Her mouth fell open with a sigh, craving more.

But he was pulling away now, rolling back over to his side of the tent. She heard the soft breath of his smile and was left to wonder whether any of that had actually just happened, or if it was all another trick her mind had played on her in the dark.  

 

“Night, Betts,” he whispered.

 

“Night,” she said, and prayed he couldn't hear her racing heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a new chapter! Thanks for your patience :)  
> Hope everyone's having a good summer!  
> If you're liking what you read, comments mean soooooo much :D  
> <3

_Holy shit._

_Did that actually happen, or…?_

_Yeah, it really did._

Betty had just awoken, and from the stillness of the air and the quality of the light filtering in through the mesh of the tent’s ceiling, it was still early.

_What did it mean? Anything?_

_Could he be… no. It was probably just…_

She stretched her legs out and rolled onto her back.

_But oh, God… that kiss._

And as the memory of his lips on hers came back vividly to her mind, she glanced over at him, still asleep and facing away from her. She felt a warm, melting feeling mixed with panic as she considered the seemingly awkward situation they were now in.

They would definitely need to talk about what happened.

 _What_ did _happen?!_

Now, Betty was not one to run away from conversations or confrontations. So why, she asked herself, wracking her brain, was she feeling so much anxiety about all of this?

She thought back to the first day of their trip, the sudden, unexpected way that she had noticed him, as if for the first time – the blue of his eyes, the curl of his hair, his rakish smile. She’d always found him interesting to talk to – if a little inclined to ranting about politics – intelligent, funny…. But he’d never stood out to her the way he did in that moment. She’d never really appreciated how handsome he was, how tall and broad-shouldered. How strong, yet delicate his hands were.

_His hands._

So, yeah… it was pretty clear by now: she liked him. Like-liked him.

That made any conversation about the ambiguous events of last night… complicated. It also meant a conversation was necessary.

And, as soon as he woke up, it would be unavoidable.

So she resolved to just do it now, wake him up, get it over with, before the rest of the campers were up and around to overhear.

She stretched a hand out towards his back, which was moving gently with his breath. Her fingers grazed his shoulder blade. “Jug,” she whispered, pushing her fingers into his back a little.

Snoring.

“Jug,” she repeated, and nudged him a little harder.

She heard a terse groan.

“Jug, wake up,” she said.

He rolled onto his back, stretching, and opened his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he mumbled, trying to blink himself awake.

“Nothing’s wrong, sorry. I just…” she let out a slow breath. “We should talk,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze.

“Betty, I—”

Just then, “rise and shine, campers!” came a loud sing-song voice from just outside the tent, accompanied by what sounded like someone banging on a pot.

_Kevin._

“I’m making paaaancaaaakes!”

Betty and Jughead exchanged a weary look and started getting dressed inside their sleeping bags.

\---

Breakfast over, and the campsite nearly packed up, the two found themselves somewhat behind everyone else: Jughead had helped himself to a fifth serving of pancakes, leaving Betty to take the tent down solo. Archie seemed anxious to get going, and Betty thought it might be best to let the rest of them go. This would give them the chance they needed to have _that_ conversation.

“You guys should get a head start,” she urged Veronica, who was perched on a cooler, chatting idly as she waited.

“No, Betty, we’ll stick together! It’s fun to hang out!”

“We won’t be much longer. You go on ahead,” she told Veronica.

“Well… I did hear there’s supposed to be a really cool rock formation somewhere along the way. Most likely we’ll pass by it today,” said Archie. “It might be cool to track that down right away and then we can spend some extra time there.”

“Betty, are you sure you don’t mind?” Veronica asked.

“Not at all – we’ll be right along behind you,” she replied with a smile, stuffing her gear into her pack.

So the other couples waded out into the river with their canoes, hopped in, and disappeared around the bend. Betty watched until the last paddle tip was out of sight. She turned to walk back up the beach toward Jughead and was instantly gripped with another round of panic. After working up her courage earlier and being interrupted, she was once again feeling apprehensive about talking to him.

What if she had misinterpreted what happened? What if he was regretting it now?

“I’m almost done,” he said, vaguely guiltily, mopping up the last of the syrup on his plate with the last piece of pancake and putting it in his mouth.

“No rush,” Betty replied, dragging the toe of one shoe through the sand, digging her hands into her pockets, and biting her lip.

The silence that followed, as Jughead finished his mouthful and Betty debated what – if anything – to say, was torture. This was it, this was her chance.

_Do it, Betty. Say something. Don’t make it harder than it has to be. ‘So, anyway, Jug, about that kiss…’_

She had that free-fall feeling in her stomach.

Finally, “I’ll get the canoe loaded up,” was all she said.

“Cool,” was his reply, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll wash the dishes and get the rest of the breakfast things packed up.”

They went their separate ways to get ready.

\---

“So, are you into any particular television shows right now?” Jughead asked as they navigated the river. Conversation hadn’t flowed so freely this morning. It hadn’t taken them that long to get going, but they still weren’t caught up with their friends, and things were so awkward between them Betty was inclined to paddle as hard as she could to catch up and avoid having to be alone together at all.

“Well, lately, I’ve been watching Mad Men,” she replied.

“Re-watching, you mean?”

“No, I just started watching it.”

“Really?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. Betty thought she detected a hint of snobbery in his reaction – classic Jug – and smiled to herself.

“Yeah, really,” she replied.

“Oh, no judgment, Betty,” he said, reading her reaction. “It’s essential viewing. It’s good that you’re catching up.”

“Glad you approve,” she chuckled.

“If I can ask—what made you decide to watch it now?”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t know. I guess… I just… wasn’t that interested in it, earlier.”

“No?”

“No – I mean, I had heard good things, of course. It’s not that I didn’t think it would be a good show. But…” she swallowed, searching for the right words. “It didn’t really jump out to me as something I really wanted to watch until recently.”

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, and for a moment they paddled in silence.

 _Subtext_ , Betty thought. _Am I doing it right?_ The conversation had begun quite naturally about TV, but almost before she’d realized it, it had taken a turn.

“So what changed?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “I think maybe I just wasn’t ready to watch it before. I wasn’t, maybe, mature enough to really appreciate it. There’s a lot going on.”

“I get that,” he murmured. “Sometimes you have to be in the right place yourself to really understand something like Mad Men.”

“Yeah,” she said with a chuckle, “exactly. I don’t even think I would have been ready to watch it, say, a year ago.”

For a moment, she thought maybe he’d picked up on her cues and they were addressing the tension between them, and she felt a weight lift. But then, she realized, they were still ostensibly just talking about a television show. There was no way to be sure what meaning he was getting out of their conversation.

“It’s like that for me sometimes,” he said.

“Really?” her heart leapt. “How so?”

“Like, with books,” he said.

 _Oh,_ she thought, deflating.

“Sometimes I’ll know a book is interesting, but just not really be in a place where I can get into it, even if I’ve already started reading it. It’s like—” he seemed to hesitate for a moment. “It’s like, sometimes you think you see something. But you’re not _really_ seeing it. And then suddenly you do. You know?”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, turning in her seat to face him. “I do.” There was a soft, shy expression on his face that quickly became a more social smile, as though he hadn’t meant for her to see it.

She didn’t really know what to do now, and while it seemed possible that he was sending her a message, she couldn’t be sure. So she just smiled back, getting a little lost in the blue of his eyes.

Then his gaze flicked over to the riverbank and he said, “Betty! Look!” As they rounded a bend in the river, a huge rock formation came into view: it was like a crumbling set of blocks, stacked up in giant steps leading to a ledge. The others were already there, some climbing on it, others sitting or lounging on a perch. Betty raised a hand in greeting and Veronica waved back. She dipped her paddle into the water and began to pull towards the rocks.

“Race you to the top!” she called back to Jughead with a grin.

\---

Climbing was a lot harder than it looked at first, and the rocks were a lot bigger close-up than they had seemed from upriver. Having pulled the canoe up against the rock face at water level, Jughead using his paddle to hold it in place, Betty was trying to hoist herself up and having an embarrassingly difficult time at it. Veronica had leaned down to grasp her hand, but the first step was just beyond where her extended toe could reach.

“Stand up on the middle gunnel,” Jughead advised.

“Are you nuts?”

“You can do it.”

“Ok,” Betty conceded, crouching down in the tipping boat and crawling over to the middle of the boat, carefully placing a foot on the wooden bar and pushing herself up again, taking Veronica’s hand and reaching her foot up to hook onto the ledge. “Almost there!” she said through gritted teeth. The canoe swayed as she bounced to gain an extra inch and she yelped, feeling herself lose balance.

“Here,” Jughead said, leaning forward over his paddle and resting an open hand on her upper thigh to steady her. Betty almost lost her grip and fell right in the river at the feeling of his wide, warm palm pressing into her leg. But it worked – with Veronica’s help she was able to pull herself up onto the rocks.

Jughead, meanwhile, paddled the canoe over to a small strip of beach beyond the rocks where the others had pulled their boats up, and would scramble up onto the formation from there, cooler in tow – as far as Jug was concerned, it was high time for lunch.

He settled into a spot beside Betty, about halfway up the rocks, and opened the cooler.

“What are you going to have?” she asked idly, picking at the loose rocks and peeking around the lid.

“Not sure,” he replied, digging around and tossing containers of food onto their perch. “Maybe… beef jerky… trail mix… ooh, strawberries!”

“You had strawberries in there this whole time?”

“Yeah,” he said, furrowing his brow and digging into the trail mix.

“And you never offered me any?” she asked, putting on a pout.

He stopped, still chewing, and looked at her, a slow smile creasing his eyes. “Betty,” he asked, pretending to be hassled, “would you like one?”

Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth and smiling shyly, “yes,” she said.

Opening the plastic box, he pulled out a plump, red berry and held it out for her. Their eyes met. For a split second, she considered eating it right out of his hand. But that seemed a little too on the nose. Besides, there were other people here. So she lifted her hand to take it, and her fingers brushed against his – the smooth warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the cool, juicy fruit.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. Grasping it by its dry green leaves, she took a bite, tasting its mellow sweetness and feeling a drop of juice escape her lips. She quirked the corner of her mouth at him as she wiped at the juice with the back of her hand. His eyes were riveted to her face as she ate, his expression undecipherable.

 _Yes_ , she thought to herself, _tonight should be… interesting_.

“Guys!” Archie was suddenly yelling from a spot on the far end, about three-quarters of the way to the top. “I’m gonna try and dive off from here!”

“No, you will _not_ , Archie Andrews,” was Veronica’s stern reply from the top of the rock pile, where she and Kevin were admiring the wildflowers growing in the tiny bits of soil.

“Try and stop me,” he taunted with the broadest grin and, turning, threw himself head-first off the rock.

“Archie!” Veronica screamed.

His face re-emerged, laughing, from the water, which he let carry him down toward where the canoes had been parked. Veronica crossed her arms over her chest, clearly relieved he was still alive, but just as clearly annoyed with the stunt.

“Come on, everyone,” he called. “Let’s get going already.”

Jughead poured another handful of trail mix into his mouth and started packing up the cooler.

\---

 _Interesting_ was right.

They had all paddled down the river together in the afternoon, trading jokes and snacks. And now it was campfire time again. The sun had gone down. The night was still and starry and the air, so hot and humid during the day, had turned fresh and cool. Archie had his guitar out – again – but there didn’t seem much danger of Veronica ending up in his lap this time: she was still subtly punishing him for his earlier high-dive. They were spread out on camping chairs and on the ground around the fire, and the last beers were being circulated and enjoyed, along with the Wild Turkey.

She and Jughead had set the tent up together when they’d found a spot to camp, but he’d seemed kind of… distant. As in, one-word answers, no real eye contact, initiating no conversation. Right now, for example, he was sitting completely on the other side of the fire from where Betty was.

Except – except there had been one small moment, after dinner, when he’d reached into the cooler, brought out the container of strawberries again, walked the ten or so steps to where she was, and offered her the last one.

“Thanks, Jug,” she’d said as she took it, touched by the gesture, which obviously had special meaning, right? Jughead was offering her the last of some kind of food supply. That seemed significant.

“Yep,” he replied briskly, turning to put the container away.

 _Mixed signals_ , she thought, getting frustrated. _Extremely mixed fucking signals._

Once the sun went down and the beer was flowing, she had figured, maybe they’d have a chance to sit next to one another by the fire. Maybe – just maybe, it’d be a little too chilly for her. She’d shiver ever so slightly. Maybe he’d offer her his hoodie, or share a blanket with her. Shoulders would touch. Someone’s fingers would graze the side of someone’s thigh and, eventually, they’d slide ever-so-slowly higher and higher…. A little part of her lit up at the prospect. There seemed a good chance they’d be cuddled up under the stars before too long.

But in reality, here she sat, dejectedly playing with the tab on her beer can and pretending to listen to Joaquin’s story about his cousin’s boyfriend’s food truck in some random town in Ohio. Okay, so the cousin’s boyfriend’s story seemed actually really intriguing. But this had none of the sexual tension Betty had been hoping her evening would contain.

By the conclusion of Joaquin’s story – turns out the cousin’s boyfriend had pivoted from selling general wraps to specializing in middle-eastern-style pita wraps, a gamble that had ultimately paid off, and yes, Joaquin thought he _would_ probably be able to pass along his cousin’s boyfriend’s baba ghanouj recipe – Betty had resolved that she would figure out a way to get Jughead alone. She didn’t know how he was feeling – like, at all – but she knew what she wanted, and she figured now was as good a time as any to put it all out there. She got up and walked around the outside of the circle over to where Jughead was toasting a marshmallow, staring into the embers.

“Where did you get that?” she asked, crouching beside him. “I thought we ate them all the other night.”

“I hid some in my pillowcase,” he explained, his eyes still on the fire.

Some of the others had started yawning and beginning to drift towards bed. Cheryl, who was sitting beside Jughead, patted Betty’s head as she pushed herself up out of her chair. “Night-night, Betty,” she said sleepily. “Night-night, hobo.”

“Sleep well,” Betty said distractedly.

And then, gradually, once again, they were alone – together. This was her chance. Her stomach burned, her heart pounded, and the comfortable, relaxed feeling she’d been enjoying earlier had been zapped away by a jolt of adrenaline as she contemplated her next step, hyperaware of herself, of him, of every sound and movement.

She took a breath in anticipation of saying… whatever it was a person said in such a situation. What does a person say? Maybe she should just act instead? Touch him somehow? God, this was all too difficult. Betty was suddenly angry with herself for having lived so much inside her own head for so long. She had no plan. She exhaled – noisily, she realized, when he turned his head to see what was going on.

“Wanna go for a swim?” she heard herself ask.

“Sure,” he replied, almost before she had gotten the words out.

\---

As plans went, this was maybe not the best one, she thought, as she made her way in a swimsuit over to where he stood on the riverbank, waiting for her in his trunks. The night air, while not exactly cold, was making her feel intensely just where all her bare skin was.

“Ready?” he asked with something like a gleam in his eye, as he stretched his hand out to help her totter across the rocks where the river met the shore, though it was hard to properly see his face.

“Ready,” she replied, taking his hand. His fingers, strong and warm, wrapped around her own.

She felt vulnerable, exposed, but – at the touch of his hand – safe. It all felt… right.

Together, they waded into the shallow water. About five feet into the river from the rocky beach, there was a drop-off, but it only went about three feet down. Earlier in the day, Archie and Kevin had moved some of the river rocks into a semi-circular formation that created a calm, gently-swirling pool, and the group had been swimming in it throughout the late afternoon. Exchanging glances in the dark, their faces illuminated only by the distant, dying fire, Jughead and Betty dipped into the deeper water, gasping at how cold it was, their hands still linked.

“Holy shit,” she wheezed, almost involuntarily. The water had been pleasantly cooling in the heat of the day, but was now downright glacial.

Jughead said nothing – his eyes and mouth were screwed shut against the shock, then opened wide in a mildly panicked pant.

“It’s fine once you’re in,” she giggled, shivering, still not quite used to the temperature, swirling her free hand around in the current.

He smiled and began to laugh, breathlessly, blowing air out through puffed cheeks as he bobbed up and down, trying to adjust. “Yeah, wow—this has gotta be good for you somehow, right? Like exercise?”

“Some people think so,” she said. “My dad used to do those polar bear swims every New Year’s. It’s supposed to be good for circulation, they say.”

“I don’t know who ‘they’ is, but they’d better be right,” he chuckled and let go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. He dropped his arms into the water and looked up. “Still no moon,” he observed. “Man, look at those stars.”

She looked up, still swishing her hands back and forth, as much to keep moving and warm as to steady herself in the river. “Wow,” she breathed. “Beautiful.”

They continued looking up – it seemed easier somehow than facing one another, or whatever was going on between them.

“Is that a constellation?” Betty asked, pointing to a particularly bright group of stars directly overhead.

“I think so… Casseopeia, maybe?”

“You know much about constellations?”

“I was obsessed with that stuff as a kid,” he replied. “And all the mythology, you know, the stories of how they got there.”

“I don’t know much about any of that,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a hard time even understanding how anyone could see all those shapes up there.”

“Well, this was before television,” he laughed. “Your imagination had to work overtime.”

“I guess so,” she said. “Like, the little dipper – it’s supposed to be a bear or something, right?”

“Ursa minor, yeah.”

“I mean… come on.”

He laughed softly. She shifted slightly from where she had been crouching in the water and her hand brushed accidentally against his forearm. They exchanged a small smile. She looked up at the sky again.

Then, his hand brushed her forearm. This time, it didn’t feel like an accident.

Her eyes dropped back down to his own. His fingers swept from her elbow to her palm, finally interlacing with hers. Her heart gave a lurch. His eyes were intense, nervous as he looked at her. His lips were parted, his breathing rapid. Was he working up to something?

“Jug,” she blurted. “I’m—I’m so cold.”

“Me too,” he said with a sudden laugh.

“Can we get the fuck out of this river already?”

“Yes, please.”

They stood up quickly. Picking their way through the rushing water to the shore, Jughead stumbled on a slippery rock, and had to brace himself on hands and knees to keep from falling face-first.

“Shit,” he spat, standing up and bending his right leg, holding his knee to examine his shin. Blood trickled from a roughly three-inch long gash.

“Oh my God,” Betty exclaimed, bending over to check the extent of the injury.

“It’s alright,” he said weakly.

“Jug, no, you’re hurt.”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s that deep,” he said, wincing. “Just a really nasty scratch. The water makes it look bloodier than it is, I think,” he explained, feeling around the edges of the cut.

“Sorry, Jug,” she said. “Let’s get you over to the fire and I can fetch your first-aid kit.” Pulling his arm around her shoulder and supporting some of his weight, she helped him hobble up the shore toward where the fire had been, before their swim.

The fire was out. Cold. Dead. Much like the romance she had envisioned for the evening, she thought to herself.

“Well, crap,” she said. “Let’s go to the tent, I guess.”

Navigating there with no moon and no flashlight was challenging. And the night air was freezing on their wet skin, already chilled from the cold swim. By the time they reached the tent, both were covered in goosebumps and shivering, grasping for their still-damp towels in the weak light cast by Betty’s tiny halogen lamp.

Nope, this was not really what she had in mind.

The bandages retrieved, Betty went to work with a peroxide-soaked gauze pad between her delicate fingers, gently dabbing blood away from the wound as he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and sat slumped, the injured leg extended.

“Does that hurt?” she asked, looking up to make sure she wasn’t making things worse.

“No, it’s fine,” he replied miserably.

She sighed and started opening the three band-aids she would need to cover the cut. “I’ll put these on and step outside so you can get changed,” she told him. He nodded.

Each gave the other some privacy to strip off their wet swimsuits and try to get comfy for bed. She was surprised to see him in an entirely different outfit than he’d worn previously on the trip – sweatpants and a long-sleeved Henley.

“You did bring other clothes!” she exclaimed.

“Well, yeah,” he smiled. “I was actually kidding about that.”

“It was very convincing.”

“I’ve worked hard to create an image for myself,” he replied with a mischievous smile, settling himself into his sleeping bag. “Glad to hear it’s working.”

When both had burrowed down and gotten comfortable, Jughead reached to turn off the light.

“Well,” Betty said, still a little disappointed, “goodnight, Jug.”

“Goodnight,” he said.

There was a moment’s silence in which, listening to his breathing, she could tell he wasn’t sleepy yet.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you warm enough?”

“Not really,” she answered honestly. The fresh set of clothes was helping, but her feet were still painful blocks of ice. “You?”

“No,” he said. “I think that swim lowered my core temperature too much. It’s making it hard to get to sleep. My legs are so cold.”

“Hm,” she hummed in agreement. “Me too. My feet actually hurt!”

“Do you—” he hesitated a little— “should we maybe zip the sleeping bags together? It might help if we… share body heat.”

She swallowed thickly, her heart suddenly pounding. “I mean, yeah… isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? To warm up?”

“That’s what they taught us in Boy Scouts,” he affirmed.

“Okay,” she said, “then that’s definitely the right thing to do.” Feeling around for the lantern, she clicked it back on.

Twisting and turning in the tight space, they got out of their sleeping bags and started unzipping them.

“I’ll lay mine down on the bottom, and we’ll zip yours on top,” she instructed.

“Yeah,” he said, “good idea.”

 _Good, good. This is good,_ she thought.

The bags in place, Jughead was fiddling with the zippers on his side. “I can’t—I’m not sure how—” There was clearly some kind of problem.

“Let me see,” Betty said, and brought the lantern over to examine the fastener. Veronica’s space-age sleeping bag had a zipper, alright, and it looked fairly normal on its own, but placed next to Betty’s standard-issue hardware-store bag, it was clearly built on a whole other scale. The pull, the teeth – everything was just different enough that the two zippers were totally incompatible.

“Figures,” she sighed in annoyance, dropping the corners of the bags. “I don’t think it’s gonna work.”

“Jesus Christ, if that’s not a metaphor for—” Jughead huffed, exasperated, “well, I don’t know, something, anyway.”

“Veronica?” Betty offered.

“Ha,” he responded. “Yeah.”

Betty felt herself begin to giggle uncontrollably, feeling the stark absurdity of the contrast between the night she’d envisioned for them and what was actually happening.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his own mouth curving into a smile at the sight of her laughter.

“I just—” she took a breath and looked into his eyes. “I thought tonight was going to go differently, I guess.”

“Same here,” he admitted, sheepishly. “You know, my legs aren’t even that cold, really. I was just looking for…” he paused a long time, searching her face, his smile fading away. “A pretext,” he finally said.

Her own smile fell as she started to understand his meaning. “A pretext for what?” she asked, holding her breath and hoping she already knew the answer.

“This,” he said, and suddenly his hands were on her face, his lips pressing against her lips. Betty responded eagerly, bringing her own hands up to curl her fingers around his wrists. Unlike the kiss the night before, which was light, experimental, almost chaste – this kiss was deep, heated, needy. Like he was a man parched half to death in the desert and she was a fountain. He pulled back suddenly, and they looked at one another in the lamplight, trying to catch their breath. His gaze was dark and hungry as he pulled her forehead to rest on his.

“I was hoping that’s what it was,” she said.

“Betty,” he said in an intense, breathy voice. “I have wanted to do that for… actually kind of a long time.”

“You have?” she was genuinely stunned.

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling away to look into her eyes, his hand caressing her cheek. “I really have.”

“I didn’t know,” she said.

“I didn’t want you to know, because… well, I wasn’t sure how you felt.”

She laughed softly. “I didn’t know how I felt either until… recently,” she admitted, cupping his elbows with her hands.

His fingers moved gently over the sides of his face and his eyes were full of warmth. “I think you’re just—god, amazing,” he told her, his voice a reverent whisper. “You’re the most beautiful, most interesting girl I’ve ever met. And if I’m being honest—” his breath hitched and he hesitated before continuing, “I’ve never felt this way about _any_ girl… before you.”

“Jug,” was all she could manage to say, overwhelmed with emotion.

“Come here,” he said gently, so she did as he asked, sliding her fingers into the thick black hair at the nape of his neck as their lips came back together.

Then his kisses were moving, performing a kind of veneration on every surface of her body he could reach: dragging across the corner of her mouth and traveling down, under her jaw, onto the sensitive skin of her throat; he brushed his parted lips over her collarbone, sliding his hands around her waist to pull her closer, and kissed each side of the exposed skin at the base of her t-shirt’s v-neckline, on the soft flesh of the tops of her breasts, hinting at where he’d like to go next.

The sensation of his lips and hands and the heat of his breath on her body made her feel dizzy, drunk. Her fingers pushed through the hair on the back of his head, willing him to keep going.

“Jug,” she panted, and his mouth came back up to claim hers.

“Betts,” he breathed, brushing the hair away from her face, his eyes drinking her all in. “Is this okay?”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, “more than okay.” Leaning back in to kiss him, “I want you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Really?” he asked, and the self-satisfied smile on his face made Betty’s heart surge with a desire to kiss him so hard his brain stopped working.

So that’s what she did, pushing him onto his back as her lips crashed into his. He flopped back with a surprised hum, clearly pleased to find himself at her mercy. Straddling him and propping herself up on either side of his head with her elbows, she tasted his mouth hungrily as his hands raked up and down her back, running under her shirt and setting her skin on fire. His lips fell open easily and their tongues slid together. As her comfort level grew, so did her burning need to feel more of his body, so when his fingers started lifting the hem of her shirt, she enthusiastically pulled it off, doing the same to his immediately after. And as their hands and lips continued exploring, she found herself unable to hold back a desperate need to rock her hips against him.

All of a sudden, he was flipping her over, interlacing their fingers to pin down her hands as he kissed his way down her neck, her chest, and over her bra. Betty squirmed and arched against him, frantic to feel his lips on the bare skin of her breasts. “Jug,” she panted, breaking free of his grasp to unclasp her bra and toss it to the side. Taking the hint, he brought his attention to this newly-uncovered area of her body, which his eyes devoured with unabashed delight. Betty was surprised to feel herself blush at the obvious need in his gaze.

“You are…” he seemed lost for words as his hands caressed the firm weight of her breasts and his fingertips softly grazed her nipples. He lowered his mouth to each nipple in turn, gently sucking, sending sharp bolts of pleasure straight down through her body. “Exquisite,” he finally said, his breathing increasingly laboured. She laughed at his choice of words, but closed her eyes as the desire he had sparked in her began spinning out of control. She bent her knee up around his hip as he continued licking and kissing, desperate to feel the full pressure and friction of him against her core. Taking the hint, he shifted the balance of his weight onto her body and settled between her legs, his lips coming up to capture hers. With only thin layers of fabric between them, Betty could immediately tell that he was enjoying this as much as she was, and the realization sent a new wave of heat and electricity low into her belly. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Tangled together, her thighs pressed into either side of his waist, they rolled against one another, their bodies moving together fluidly and spontaneously, in all the ways their instincts were urging them to.

“Betts,” Jug murmured against her lips between heated, loose kisses, “we can’t—I mean, I think we should—”

“Jug, it’s okay,” she responded, pulling back. “I just wanna do this for now, if you’re okay with it. We don’t need to—”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “I definitely want to—”

“Me too.”

“One day.”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“This isn’t the time. We’re not—”

“Exactly.”

“Yes.”

“I’m just gonna—”

“We can take it easy for now,” she reassured him and his face broke into a serene smile as he rolled to the side.

“Let’s turn that light out,” he whispered, carding his fingers through her hair.

“Okay,” she said, and reached out to click it off.

And then, nestling together under Jughead’s sleeping bag in the perfect dark, their limbs interwoven like puzzle pieces, their kisses lazy and lingering, their breath warm on one another’s cheeks, they drifted off to sleep.


End file.
